Relief
by ShadowReader
Summary: Ginny has been feeling strange, ever since the Department of Mysteries... ONE SHOT


Disclaimer: Harry Potter isn't mine. But you already knew that.

It was a warm summer day outside, with clouds drifting across the sky. Inside the Burrow, Ginny sat up in her room. She was the only one at home, as she declined to go with the rest of her family to Diagon Alley. She wanted to be alone. She was alone, quite frequently. Whenever the family did something together, Ginny would come up with an excuse not to participate. It was just easier that way. She didn't like to be among people very much anymore. 

She had so many memories to cope with. The trip to the Department of Mysteries had created new ones, but at the same time, thinking of them had awakened others. She didn't like to admit it, but she was scared, and not just of the memories. Both times, she, Harry, Ron, her friends… they could have died, and it was only luck that had saved them. These events made her contemplate death and life, and she wanted to be alone to sort out her thoughts and feelings about everything. Especially her feelings about Harry.

So on this warm summer's day, Ginny sat in bed. She didn't read a book or listen to the radio. She just stared at the ceiling. It was her favorite thing to do, nowadays. 

Harry. She couldn't get him out of her mind. Thoughts of him ate away at her sanity, filling her hours, and haunted her dreams. She could never get away from him. Yet she was so tired of it all, of her feelings about him. She wanted out. But the room Ginny was trapped in had no door. She was trapped inside herself. 

The heaviness inside her ached and throbbed. She never liked it when this happened, when she felt this way. She felt tired. And she hurt. 

She stared aimlessly at the ceiling as her thoughts grew darker and more morbid. She thought about what she would do if her family died, and began creating an elaborate daydream of having to go stay with Harry, and have him fall in love with her, and understand her, and rescue her. Sad, really, that this dream seemed more plausible than reality. But she was used to that. 

Gradually, her thoughts turned to what to do about this… feeling. The ache. It hurt so badly, but no one could kiss it and make it better. Harry maybe, but he didn't really like her…

She had thought that his coming after her in the Chamber had meant something, said something of how he thought about her. Yet after the Triwizard Tournament and the Department of Mysteries, Ginny realized that it wasn't necessarily _her_; Harry just liked saving people. The Chamber had meant nothing as far as love was concerned. He had rescued her because she was in danger, because he could be the hero. 

Ginny was never sure if she should be glad about this or not. On one hand, Harry had finally noticed her. On the other, she had been incredibly stupid. She winced slightly. How could she have been so idiotic? Trusting an obviously magical book, substituting it for real friends, was something only fools did. And she had been a fool to trust Tom. 

Tom. The name brought back so many memories… 

She sat bolt upright. _Nonono, not here, not now, oh no, please, just stop, go away, I can't hear you, think, think of something else, please please_ her mind shouted as she struggled to maintain the barrier. 

Ah yes, the barrier. A little self-defense mechanism she had developed, to keep away certain… thoughts. Thoughts that would destroy her, given the chance. 

She calmed down. No thoughts had gotten through. She was safe- for now.

_I can't go on like this_, she thought. She needed a way out. She was killing herself. It felt like there was a disease, a cancer, something was rotting inside her. She needed to let it out before it consumed her.

The clock next to her bed on her nightstand chimed noon. It was lunchtime already. 

Her thoughts turned to food. She supposed she was hungry. Well, she wasn't, but she needed something to do. Eating seemed to be the best way to go.

Ginny went down the stairs and into the kitchen. She opened the pantry and studied it. She got out a loaf of bread and some peanut butter, and went over to a drawer to get a knife. As Ginny pulled open the drawer, the cooking utensils caught the sunlight, throwing it back into her eyes. She reached for a dinner knife, then caught sight of the carving knives. They were long, sharp, wicked looking things, deadly and beautiful. She picked one up, and looked at it. 

She felt… cold inside. Cool, like the rottenness had crystallized. Ginny looked at the knife. Never had she felt as lucid as she did now. Yet, she also felt a tendril of fear. 

She put the knife down. No longer hungry, she went back upstairs. But the knife refused to leave her thoughts. She kept thinking about it, thinking of how much she hurt. She kept picturing taking the knife and slicing the soft skin of her wrist with it. The image of the blood dripping out of the wound soothed her, yet scared her at the same time. She would never be able to do it, she was certain. And yet, and yet…

The sun rose higher in the sky. Clouds passed overhead. Ginny stared out the window, feeling the dull ache in her. She grew tired of this and lay back down on her bed. She was feeling restless now, like she ought to be out somewhere, doing something. Slowly, the feeling faded. She grew tired, and fell asleep. 

When Ginny woke up, it was late in the afternoon. Her family wasn't going to be back until well after dark, she was sure. Would Harry come with them? They were supposed to meet in Diagon Alley.

She was grateful that she had gotten over her shyness a bit, and could speak to him. But would he even bother to speak to her? At this, the aching grew a little worse. She tried not to feel it. Spotting a book on her nightstand, one she had already read, Ginny picked it up. She needed a distraction right now. 

It was dark by the time she became tired of the book. Her mood grew worse. Thoughts of blood came back. If she could just let some of the rottenness inside her out…

The knife. She remembered how calm, how connected her thoughts were when she held it. Though generally organized, Ginny's thoughts had grown rather scattered over the past few weeks. But when she had held the knife, they suddenly grew connected, focused. 

The rotten feeling inside her grew. She felt tired and sick. She wanted to feel control again. She went down into the kitchen.

It was dark down there. But the lights were spelled to kindle when someone walked into the room, and as she entered, it illuminated the kitchen for her. She went to the drawer. Inside lay the knife, just as she had left it. 

She felt the cool feeling again. She wondered briefly if she was insane, but dismissed it. She had other things to think about. She looked at the knife. 

It was a medium sized knife with a wooden handle and a sharp blade. It was beautiful, in a strange way. The light glinted off of it, as she turned it this way and that. 

She took the handle in her right hand, and pressed the blade gently against her wrist. The knife cut smoothly into her skin, as if it were slicing butter. 

It stung, horribly. But there was a strange sense of relief, of satisfaction, as she watched the blood dribble down her arm. She made a small cut some ways below the first one, and again experienced the relief. She closed her eyes, and pretended that the rottenness inside her was flowing out. The sense of relief grew.

She looked down at her arm. The red liquid had trickled down to her elbow. The sight brought to mind another memory of blood on her. Blood on her hands and feathers on her robes…

The memory made her suddenly come to her senses. Putting the knife down and placing her hand over the cuts, she ran upstairs and into the bathroom. Her mother kept a supply of bandages and ointment there, though it was rarely needed.

After wrapping her arm, she went back downstairs. Picking up a dishtowel, Ginny wet it and cleaned the knife. When she was done, she put it back in the drawer and headed for her room. 

She knew that what she had done was wrong. She knew that cutting wasn't the answer. But she couldn't forget what she had felt when she had seen the blood dribble down her arm.

She had felt that now, at last, the pain might stop. 


End file.
